Image TileImage TileImage TileImage TileImage TileImage TileImage TileImage TileImage TileImage TileImage TileImage TileImage TileImage TileImage TileImage Tile
Image size: 5632x7680 Scale: 35% - PanoJS3
Page overview thumbnail

Article text

Just a street
cop who
does
Sergeant Ron MacFarlane
is possibly the most
successful thief-taker
in ACT police history,
writes Brian Tate.
THE MOMENT he slid back
the bolt on the door of the
aviary and stepped in, the
four parrots went berserk.
They flapped and screeched
in panic, despite the man's softly spo-
ken reassurances: "Come on now, you
know I'm not going to hurt you. I only
want to look at the young bloke."
He reached inside the nesting box
and his big hand emerged gently cra-
dling a small frantically squawking
fledgling. It was an incongruous sight;
the heavily built balding man, cupping
the ugly month-old bird which had in-
effectually clamped its beak on to the
web of its captor's hand. The paradox
of that gently domestic scene seems
even more pronounced given the fact
that the concerned aviarist is a dedi-
cated, no-nonsense street cop.
Sergeant Ron MacFarlane has al-
ways been a solidly built man. And as
a shift-working police officer, he has
lived a fast-lane existence fuelled by
on-the-run, high-cholesterol, take-away
food. His nutritionally questionable
meals are invariably washed down by
the chardonnay of patrol police: Coca
Cola.
His conversation moves between al-
most breathless outbursts and consid-
ered periods of thoughtful hesitation.
As you speak with MacFarlane you
gain the disconcerting impression that
you are keeping him from something
of substance. It is rumoured that he is
reluctant to take rostered days off and
his every waking moment seems just
too crowded for comfort.
Since joining the police force Mac-
Farlane's harried supervisors have
looked upon him as something of an
endurable nightmare. His sporadic
paperwork has tended to be brief and
perpetually overdue, while his appear-
ance perfectly fitted his style of polic-
ing: dishevelled and barely meeting de-
partmental guidelines.
From early in his career, Ron Mac-
Farlane's various senior commanding
officers — despite their collective bet-
ter judgments — have generally con-
tinued to tolerate him. This uncomfort-
able acceptance of his sometimes "bull
in a china shop" ways may have had
something to do with the fact that the
big cop's perennially high arrest fig-
ures have helped to swell crime clear
up statistics.
The carpenter-turned-cop enjoys an
enviable and justifiable reputation as
probably the most successful individu-
al thief-taker in ACT police history.
And he does it without feeling the
need to go deep undercover, nor to lu-
bricate the tongues of mysterious "in-
formants".
Among the uniformed constables
who work out of the Civic Police Sta-
tion, Ron MacFarlane is something of
a cluttered legend.
In June, 1969, at the age of 23, Mac-
Farlane joined the former ACT Police
Force. After basic recruit training, the
rookie constable was transferred as a
matter of course to uniformed general
duties. Almost while still on probation,
MacFarlane discovered a gift and a
passion for arresting car thieves. The
young policeman also realised that sto-
len motor vehicles — SMVs in the jar-
gon — were used in many other of-
fences.
As the tenacious policeman's fame
spread, supportive supervisors began
to turn a blind eye to Constable Mac-
Farlane's felonious fixations. Eventual
ly those in a position to legitimise his
unorthodox police behaviour decided
to remove the leash. He was allowed to
select his own partner and given carte
blanche to take out car thieves wher-
ever he found them. The faith which
those senior officers had in MacFar-
lane's abilities was soon justified in
plenty.
By 1972 his dedication began to be
recognised, not only from within the
police force itself but from members of
the community as well. Today, numer-
ous letters of appreciation fatten his
service file and in March, 1977, Mac-
Farlane received the first of 11 official
police commendations.
Almost naive and anachronistic in
its ethical basis, Ron's personal work-
ing creed is that he should give an
honest day's work for his pay. Perhaps
unrealistically, he also feels that what
he does is no more than what should
be expected of all police officers. But
establishing precisely how he does it is
not easy.
In the past, MacFarlane has been re-
ferred to as "Mr Memory", a title he
has always disputed, and which he
counters by suggesting that he has just
an average power of recollection. He
says that his success is not based on a
computer-like ability to store and re-
trieve at will stolen car registration
numbers.
Instead he concentrates more on the
individual identifying characteristics
of each car reported stolen. This is
normally complemented by an obscure
registration letter and number combi-
nation. He also carries constantly up
dated computer print-outs, and more
detailed entries in a child's exercise
book.
But behind the technology and for-
mality is MacFarlane's indefinable
sixth sense which enables him to
"suss" out those cars which he just
knows are stolen, sometimes even be-
fore they are reported.
He is an indisputable expert in the
modus operandi of car thieves: the
coin in the slot-door pickers, the hole
punchers and the plastic-packing strap
puppeteers. MacFarlane is often able to
individually identify the work of many
of them by the method they use.
And there is another unusual facet
to the professional make-up of Ser-
geant Ron MaFarlane: he invariably
refuses to present the entirely justifi-
able, if somewhat over-glamorised
movie screen image of the plain
clothes undercover officer. Instead he
prefers to wear uniform.
Once again the reasoning behind the
decision is straightforward and logical.
He believes that working in an un-
marked police car is covert enough
and wearing civilian clothes may offer
a speeding car thief a future court de-
fence as to why he wouldn't stop on
MacFarlane's request.
But in spite of their readily identifi-
able police uniforms, Ron MacFarlane
and his numerous partners have had
more than their share of spectacular
car chases. However, the veteran cop
sagely observes that public disquiet,
plus the fact that he is getting on a lit-
tle, have seen the number of
high-speed runs he has been personal-
ly involved in over recent years be-
coming something of a rarity.
A CHASE which does stand out in
MacFarlane's mind began in the
Woden Valley several years ago.
In Hindmarsh Drive Ron and his mate
had stopped an XF Ford Falcon sedan
reported stolen from Sydney.
As the Ford slowed and the police
vehicle moved in behind it the driver
suddenly accelerated. Seated beside
him was his girlfriend, the daughter of
a prominent Canberra doctor.
The chase continued through Can-
berra's then infant southern suburbs
into the undeveloped back-blocks of
Tuggeranong. As the speed of the two
cars increased the police slackened off.
eventually losing sight of the stolen
Ford.
But MacFarlane had a trump card
up his sleeve. He knew who the driver
was and, perhaps more importantly, he
also knew the name and address of the
thief's girlfriend. The officers drove to
near the girl's home and waited. Some
time later the stolen Ford arrived and
its occupants switched to a car owned
by the girlfriend, who drove off.
The two were followed into Civic by
the police officers where their car was
pulled over. To make certain the boy
friend didn't escape, MacFarlane posi
tioned the police vehicle so that the
passenger side front door of the girl's
car was blocked. However, when they
made a cursory examination of the in-
terior of the old Holden, the police
were surprised to find the thief him-
self was apparently no longer in the
car !
Puzzled, MacFarlane and his partner
ordered the girl out and searched the
vehicle. The thief had managed to
squirm up under the dashboard where
he was found, curled up like a snake.
THERE is little dispute about
what MacFarlane regards as the
most satisfying and yet the most
personal arrest of his career. It was
the night his wife's car was stolen.
Each night before he goes to bed
Ron checks to see his own family's
cars are safe. Late one Friday evening,
he discovered his wife's Torana was
missing. Fortunately, there was a spe-
cial knack to starting the vehicle and
while the thief had managed to push
the Holden out on to the street, he was
having trouble getting it going.
The scene was a red rag to MacFar-
lane and after jumping a few fences he
chased and arrested the surprised 17
year-old offender. His satisfaction was
boosted by the youth's ready admis-
sion to have taken another 15 cars
throughout Belconnen.
But Ron MacFarlane's arrests are
not always associated with acned joy-
riders. During his police service he
has broken three organised car-theft
rackets, one of which had stolen vehi-
cles from Canberra estimated to be
worth up to $1 million.
Between April, 1978, and May, 1982,
MacFarlane and his assorted partners
recovered 203 SMVs. They also ar-
rested or summonsed 264 people, lay-
ing more than 900 charges against
them. Many of these statistics had
come about while MacFarlane was a
member of the City Task Force, estab-
lished in 1981.
Because of his particularly diligent
Sergeant Ron MacFarlane: an indisputable expert in the modus operandi of car thieves — he can "suss" them out. Help
[Sergeant Ron MacFarlane: an indisputable expert in the modus operandi of car thieves — he can "suss" them out.]
none Help
performance, moves were made to
have MacFarlane officially rewarded.
The culmination of these efforts came
about in 1985 when Ron's tally had ris-
en to 563 arrests, with 1829 criminal
charges laid.
At that time it had been estimated
that since joining the police force in
1969, he had recovered approximately
1600 stolen vehicles. But the clear-up
figures made no mention of the tens of
thousands of dollars in additional sto-
len property which he had salvaged.
On Australia Day, 1985, Ron received
a medallion from the Australia Day
Council in recognition of his enduring
devotion to duty. Later that same year,
an uncharacteristically immaculately
groomed MacFarlane stood to attention
as the Governor-General presented him
with a medal of the Order of Australia.
It is a Friday evening and Sergeant
Ron MacFarlane's unmarked police car
traverses Civic. As he chats to his
partner, both men are subconsciously
tuned-in to the obtrusive blipping of
the busy police radio network. This
toneless background murmur competes
with the cacophony of rock music re-
verberating from a mind-numbing
commercial radio station booming
through the car.
As the police car crawls through the
central business district the changing
of the guard is in progress. The home-
ward-bound late-night shoppers are
making way for the young party ani-
mals who wander in groups among the
food vendor's stands dotted along the
footpaths of East Row.
It is 9.30 and they are stopped at a
red light in Northbourne Avenue at its
intersection with Alinga Street. Mac-
Farlane, as always, is driving.
Their car, a late-model sedan, has
little similarity to a police vehicle, ap-
pearing instead to be part of the salary
package of a senior corporate execut-
ive. The subterfuge is bolstered by a
short, mobile telephone-like police ra-
"Mr Memory": he carries constantly updated computer print-outs on each car reported stolen. Help
["Mr Memory": he carries constantly updated computer print-outs on each car reported stolen.]
dio antenna, mounted on the vehicle's
rear window. MacFarlane's bored
yawning is immediately stifled as a
Holden Commodore accelerates out of
Alinga and fishtails with a shriek as it
turns right into Northbourne Avenue.
Almost immediately the traffic light
facing the police car turns green.
Ron's partner reaches into the back
seat and retrieves a detachable mag-
netic base blue light which he clamps
on to the roof.
Ahead of them the Commodore's
taunting tail lights mark its run, as it
constantly swaps lanes and accelerates,
pulling further away from the police
car. The critical question for the two
cops is whether or not the speeding
car has just been taken by joyriders,
or if it is being driven by a Friday
night Peter Brock clone.
But the mystery remains unsolved.
Given the nature of the traffic, Mac-
Farlane is not prepared to take
chances and after a kilometre, he
backs off. MacFarlane quietly curses.
EARLIER this year, MacFarlane
was offered a redundancy pack-
age. Without even bothering to
determine its substance, he disgustedly
declined this official slap in the face.
But an exceptional statistic seems to
fly in the face of this. Over seven
weeks earlier this year, Sergeant Ron
MacFarlane and his offsiders were sin-
gularly responsible for the recovery of
95 stolen motor vehicles. Arrests were
made in connection with some of the
thefts.
Half an hour after terminating the
Northbourne Avenue pursuit, the offi-
cers are cruising along a street beside
a poorly lit carpark near the Cameron
Offices in Belconnen. As they check
for movement among the sparse num-
ber of vehicles sitting there, they get a
"lock". An early-model Torana with
three heads visible is moving slowly
through the carpark.
MacFarlane continues on, stopping
where he can observe the curious go-
ings-on. Soon the suspicious car has
left the area with the unmarked police
vehicle following at a discrete dis-
tance.
A few minutes later the Torana pulls
into MacDonald's at Emu Ridge and
stops. Once more MacFarlane deliber-
ately over-shoots the area and parks.
After waiting for a short time, the
Holden heads west along Southern
Cross Drive where the Task Force offi-
cers move alongside and signal the
driver to pull over.
MacFarlane politely asks the driver
to step from the car. After checking
his licence and registration he queries
the young man's behaviour. Satisfied
with the explanation the police leave.
The driver's story is plausible but
MacFarlane cannot know for certain if
he has just temporarily scared the
criminality out of a team of potential
car thieves.
The sergeant's attitude toward the
young men in the Torana tends to con-
firm his thinking in dealing with those
he has working contact with. He clear-
ly believes in the non-harassment of
youths whose guilt is unproven. Simi-
larly, he refuses to continue to hound
men he has previously arrested in the
dubious hope that he may be able to
pin something else on them. This is es-
pecially so in the case of those he has
had convicted and who have been re-
leased from prison.
MacFarlane is steadfast in his opin-
ion that many offenders, especially
those who have served their first trau-
matic jail sentences, are genuinely
anxious to "go straight". It is a con-
cept that might not sit comfortably
with police officers who support the
adage "once a crim, always a crim".
Aware of the tenuous nature of con-
tinuing in Task Force duties, MacFar-
lane is realistic. He lives day-to-day
painfully aware of the fact that his
professional survival rests on the
sometimes unfathomable tendencies of
the administration and the whims of
those senior officers who may com-
mand the City Station.
MacFarlane is prepared to concede
that at times he has been close to suc-
cumbing to his critics and either
meekly marking time until retirement,
or simply resigning. When his
thoughts have become confused Ron
has sought solace in the aviaries in
the backyard. As he feeds and adminis-
ters to the stunningly beautiful par-
rots, things seem to fall into place and
his purpose becomes refocused.
In another five years MacFarlane's
employment contract comes up for re-
newal. Rightly or wrongly he believes
that once again faceless bureaucrats
within the dark corridors of the AFP
will do what they can to get rid of
him. As to whether or not he will re-
sist next time is unclear.
He has bought 150 acres of land at
the foot of the Snowy Mountains and
has a dream of using his dormant car-
pentry skills to build a cottage among
the snow gums. There, he believes, he
will find some retirement happiness.
$